Darkly Dreaming Takao
by Torapadora
Summary: The monster's husky seducing voice has gone quiet. I feel a smile coming to my lips, a real smile and soon came a chuckle. Now I could be myself again, Quirky, funny, happy-go-lucky, dead-inside Takao Kazunari, no longer Takao with the knife, Takao the Avenger, not until next time Anyways. Rated M, Midotaka Aokaga Kagakuro Muramuro Kikasa


The moon shines with a fitting red because tonight's the night, and it's going to happen again and again, it has to happen. Ah, the symphonic shrieks all screaming of the need. Oh yes the need, the need that keeps me alive, the need which fills up the nothing inside of me, and the one who laughs in the dark. That thing is not me, it's the monster that hides deep inside me and has come out to feed its undying hunger. It had waited and watched for five weeks now, watching that disgusted priest. For three weeks I had known it was going to be him, the one who will feed the hunger.

For three weeks I struggled not to do it, it had to be done at the right time with the right preparations, all of this to protect my happy little life which I had worked too long and too hard to make it work. At the moment I was having too much fun to stop, if I hadn't waited it would have been like this too but disastrous, ugly and unclean. So I was always prepared, always tidy every time so it would feel just right. It was all thanks to him it was all perfect, my beloved foster father. Always be sure, be careful, be exact, he said, the previous weeks I have made sure that it was just that.

I felt it after work; I just knew that today was the day. Just as it has happened before and will again and again. Tonight it will happen to that priest. His name's father Donovan, he teaches music to the orphanages. The children loved him. And of course he loved the children, oh so very much. He has been devoting his whole life to them, everything he did, It was all for the kids. Everything.

Tonight I watch him as I've done so many nights before, I watched as he talked to a little girl. She seemed to be no older than eight, they laughed together and she leaned against him, and he touches her hair. Father Donovan hugged the girl, stood up, and kissed her goodnight. He then starts walking towards his car. The excitement that I feel is unbelievable, but of course the janitor comes and talks to him, I cannot help but to feel annoyed and disappointed. I took a deep breath; this was just one thing that had gone wrong, everything else must be perfect. I had done everything right; the way it must be.

Now.

Father Donovan was walking towards his car again, he opened the car door, sat down and I heard the keys go in – NOW. I sat up in his backseat and slipped the noose around his neck. He made a small ratchet of panic and that was it.

''You are mine now'' I told him, he froze neat and perfect as if he heard the monster's voice. ''Do exactly what I say'' he rasped half a breath and glanced into his rearview mirror, the dark covered my face, the only thing clear was my eyes that shines with excitement. ''Do you understand?'' He nodded and I loosen the noose a little.

''Good. Now you will live longer'' I loosen the nose even more for him, he took a deep breath, he coughed and breathed again. He didn't try to escape and he sat oh so very still.

This was very good. We drove, Father Donovan followed my directions completely, no tricks, no hesitations. I could tell that the road made him nervous, but he didn't object.

He didn't try to speak with me, try to talk me out of it. That was good too. I never liked it when my prey started acting all high and mighty.

''Turn here'' The priest eyes flew to mine in the mirror, the panic was trying to claw its way down his eyes and into his mouth to speak, but I couldn't allow that, now could I?

''Turn!'' I say, and he turns. He slumps like he has been expecting this all along, waiting for it.

The small dirty road was hard to see, you almost had to know it was there to see it. But I know, I have been there before. The road runs for two and a half mile, through grass, through small trees, alongside a small canal, deep into the swamp and into a clearing. Fifty years ago somebody built a house here; the most of it is still left. It was big for what it was, three rooms and a half roof. The place had been abandoned for many years, except the old vegetable garden out in the side yard. There's signs that somebody has been digging there fairly recently.

''Stop the car'' I tell him, Father Donovan like the good boy he is obeyed. ''Get out'' I say, but he didn't move at all, fear had sealed him into his body now, his eyes was on the vegetable garden. I yanked on the noose; harder than he thought he could live through, harder than he knew could happen to him. His back arched against the seat and the veins stood out on his forehead and he thought he was about to die.

But he was not. Not yet. Not for quite some time, in fact.

I kicked the car door open and pulled him out after me, just to let him feel my strength. He flopped to the sandy roadbed and twisted like an injured snake. The dark part of me laughed and loved it and I played the part. I put one boot on Father Donovan's chest and held the noose tight.

''You have to listen and do as I say'' I tell him. ''You have to.'' I bent and gently loosened the noose. ''You should know that. It's important'' I said. And he heard me. His eyes, pounding with blood and pain and leaking tears onto his face, his eyes met mine in a rush of understanding and all the things that had to happen were there for him to see now. And he saw. And he knew how important it was for him to be just right. He began to know.

''Get up now'' I say. Father Donovan slowly, slowly got up, his eyes on mine the whole time. ''In the house'' I say, oh so very softly, sounding like a mother comforting her crying baby. I suspect that Father Donovan has pretty bad experiences with crying children, well for them anyways.

He starts going for the house and I hold his leash. He walks obediently, head down, a good and docile victim. ''Through the door'' I tell him, he hesitated, it made me smirk, he feared what he'd find inside. ''Go through the door now'' I say again but he could not. I roll my eyes, if he really did feel such regret for what he did, why repeat it or even better do it at all? Not that I care much, such feelings of regret and remorse never seem to come to me anyways.

I lean past him and pushed the door open. I shove the priest in with my foot. He stumbles, and stood just inside, eyes squeezed tight shut. I close the door. I had left a battery lamp standing on the floor beside the door and I turn it on.

''Look'' I whisper. Father Donovan slowly but surely opened his eyes, then he froze.

Time seemed to have stopped for him.

''No'' he says, shaking his head in denial. ''Yes'' I say, ''Oh no'' he says again, I roll my eyes in annoyance ''Oh yes'' Then he screams ''NOO!'' I yanked on the noose. His scream was cut off and he fell to his knees. He made a wet croaky whimpering sound and covered his face. ''Yes'' I said. ''It's a terrible mess, now isn't it?''

He used his whole face to close his eyes. He could not look, not now, not like this. I did not blame him, not really, it was a terrible mess. It had bothered me just to know it was there since I had set it up for him. But he had to see it. He had to. Not just for me. It was all for him. He had to see. And he was not looking.

''Open your eyes, Father Donovan'' I say.

''Please'' he pleads in a terrible little whimper. It got on my nerves very badly, shouldn't have, icy-clean control, but it got to me, whining in the face of that mess on the floor, and I kick his legs out from under him. I haul hard on the noose and grab the back of his neck with my right hand; I then slam his face into the filthy warped floorboards. There was a little blood and that made me madder.

''Open them'' I say, irritation clear in my voice, why could he be as obedience as before?

''Open your eyes. Open them NOW. Look'' I grab his hair and pull his head back

''Look. Or I will cut your eyelids right off your face.'' I was very convincing. And so he did it. He did as he was told. He looked.

I had worked hard to make it right, but you have to use what you've got to work with. I could not have done it at all if they had not been there long enough for everything to dry up, but they were so very dirty. I had managed to clean off most of the dirt, but some of the bodies had been in the garden a very long time and you couldn't tell where the dirt began and the body stopped. You never could tell, really, when you stop to think about it.

So dirty.

There were seven of them, seven small bodies, seven extra-dirty orphan children laid out on rubber shower sheets, which are neater and don't leak, seven straight lines pointing straight across the room, pointing right at Father Donovan. So he knew.

He was about to join them.

''Hail Mary, full of grace—'' he starts. I jerk hard on the noose. ''None of that, Father,

Not now. Do you honestly think the gods will listen to you, especially now. Now is for real truth''

''Please'' he chokes out with his disgusting voice. ''Yes, beg me. That's good, much better.'' I yank again. ''Do you think that's it, Father? Seven bodies? Did they beg?'' He had nothing to say. ''Do you think that's all of them, Father? Just seven? Did I get them all?''

''Oh, God'' he rasps out, with a pain that was good to hear. ''And what about the other towns, Father? What about Fayetteville? Would you like to talk about Fayetteville?'' He just chokes out a sob, no words. ''And what about East Orange? Was that three? Or did I miss one there? It's so hard to be sure. Was it four in East Orange , Father?''

Father Donovan tries to scream. There was not enough left of his throat for it to be a very good scream, but it had real feeling behind it, which made up for the poor technique.

Then he falls forward onto his face and I let him snivel for a while before I pull him up and onto his feet. He's not steady, and not in control. His bladder had let loose and there was drool on his chin.

''Please'' he begs. ''I couldn't help myself. I just couldn't help myself. Please, you have to understand—''

''Oh I do understand, Father'' I answer, and there was something in my voice, the monster's voice now, and the sound of it froze him. He lifts his head slowly to face me and what he saw in my eyes made him very still. ''I understand perfectly,'' I tell him, moving very close to his face. The sweat on his cheeks turned to ice. ''Well you see, I can't help myself, either.''

We were very close now, almost touching, and the dirtiness of him was suddenly too much. I jerk up on the noose and kicked his feet out from under him again. Father Donovan sprawls on the floor.

''But children?'' I question him, with disgust ringing in my voice. ''I could never do this to children.'' I put my hard clean boot on the back of his head and I slam his face down.

''Not like you, Father. Never kids. I have to find people like you.''

''What are you?'' Father Donovan whispered.

''The beginning'' I answer. ''And the end. Meet your Unmaker, Father.'' I had the needle ready and it went into his neck like it was supposed to, slight resistance from the rigid muscles, but none from the priest. I push the plunger and the syringe emptied, filling

Father Donovan with quick, clean calm. Moments, only moments, and his head began to float, and he rolled his face to me.

Did he truly see me now? Did he see the double rubber gloves, the careful coveralls? Did he really see me? Or did that only happen in the other room, the monster's room, the Clean Room? Painted white two nights past and swept, scrubbed, sprayed, cleaned as clean as can be. And in the middle of the room, its windows sealed with thick white rubberized sheets, under the lights in the middle of the room, did he finally see me there in the table I had made, the boxes of white garbage bags, the bottles of chemicals, and the small row of saws and knives? Did he see me at last? Or did he see those seven untidy lumps, and who knows how many more? Did he see himself at last, unable to scream, turning into that kind of mess in the garden?

He would not, of course. His imagination did not allow him to see himself as the same species. And in a way, he was right. He would never turn into the kind of mess he had made of the children. I would never do that, could never allow that. I am not like Father Donovan, not that kind of monster. I am a very neat monster.

Neatness takes time, of course, but it's worth it. Worth it to make the monster happy, keep him quiet for another long while, worth it just to do it right and tidy. Remove one more heap of mess from the world. A few more neatly wrapped bags of garbage and my one small corner of the world is a neater, happier place, a better place.

I had about eight hours before I had to be gone. I would need them all to do it right.

I secured the priest to the table with duct tape and cut away his clothes. I did the preliminary work quickly; shaving, scrubbing, and cutting away the things that stuck out untidily. As always I felt the wonderful long slow build to release begin its pounding throughout my entire body. It would flutter through me while I worked, rising and taking me with it, until the very end, the Need and the priest swimming away together on a fading tide.

And just before I started the serious work Father Donovan opens his eyes and looks at me. There was no fear now; that happens sometimes. He looks straight up at me and his mouth moves.

''What?'' I ask. I moved my head a little closer. ''I can't hear you.'' I heard him breathe, a slow and peaceful breath, and then he said it again before his eyes close.

''You're welcome'' I say with a sadistic glee, and I went back to work.

By four thirty in the morning the priest was all cleaned up, I felt a lot better. I always did, after. Killing makes me feel good. It works the knots out of darling Kazunari's dark schemata. It's a sweet release, a necessary letting go. I enjoy my work; sorry if that bothers you. Oh, very sorry, really. But there it is. And it's not just any killing, of course. It has to be done the right way, at the right time, with the right partner—very complicated, but very necessary.

But it did take some energy and I'm quite tired now, but the tension of the last week was gone. The monster's husky seducing voice has gone quiet. I feel a smile coming to my lips, a real smile and soon came a chuckle. Now I could be myself again, Quirky, funny, happy-go-lucky, dead-inside Takao Kazunari, no longer Takao with the knife, Takao the Avenger, not until next time Anyways.

I was home again by six thirty, I take the slide from my pocket, a simple, clean glass strip—with a careful single drop of the priest's blood preserved in the center. Nice and clean, dry now, ready to slip under my microscope when I wanted to remember. I put the slide with the others, thirty-six neat and careful very dry drops of blood.

Blood. Sometimes it sets my teeth on edge, and sometimes it helps me control the chaos.

I took an extra-long shower, letting the hot water wash away the last of the tension and ease the knots in my muscles, scrubbing off the small final traces of clinging smell from the priest and the garden of the little house in the swamp.

Children. I should have killed him twice.

Whatever made me the way I am left me hollow; empty inside, unable to feel. It doesn't seem like a big deal. I'm quite sure most people fake an awful lot of everyday human contact. I just fake all of it. I fake it very well, and the feelings are never there. But I like kids. I could never have them, since the only human being I have any interest in living such a life with was a guy and idea of sex is no idea at all. Imagine doing those things— how can you? Where's your sense of dignity? But kids—kids are special. Father Donovan deserved to die. The Code of my foster father was satisfied, along with the monster.

By seven-fifteen I felt clean again. I have coffee, cereal, and head in for work. I nearly fell asleep about seven times before the coffee worked its magic. As much as I enjoyed staying up all night, it was never a good idea.

The building where I work is a large modern thing, white with lots of glass, near the airport. My lab is on the second floor, in the back. I have a small office attached to the lab. It is not much of an office, but it's mine, a cubicle off the main blood lab. All mine, nobody else allowed in, nobody to share with, to mess up my area, a desk with a chair, another chair for a visitor, if he's not too big, Computer, shelf, filing cabinet, a telephone, an answering machine.

The answering machine was blinking light as I came in, a message for me is not a daily thing. For some reason, there are very few people in the world who can think of things to say to a blood spatter pattern analyst during working hours. One of the few people who do have things to say to me is Kagami Taiga, my foster brother. A cop, just like his father, the message was from him.

I punch the button and hear some music, then Taiga's voice. ''Kazunari, please, as soon as you get in. I'm at a crime scene out on Tamiami Trail, at the Cacique Motel.'' There was a pause. I heard him put a hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone and say something to somebody. Then there was a blast of Mexican music again and he was back on. ''Can you get out here right away? Please, Kazu? Please with a little red fucking cherry on top''

I don't have a family. I mean, as far as I know. Somewhere out there must be people who carry similar genetic material, I'm sure. I pity them. But I've never met them. I haven't tried, and they haven't tried to find me. I was adopted, raised by Hiroto and Chiyo

Kagami, Taiga's parents. And considering what I am, they did a wonderful job of raising me, don't you think?

Both dead now, don't worry I didn't kill them. Taiga has a big heart, but is afraid to show it and so Taiga's the only person in the world who gives a rusty possum fart whether I live or die. For some reason that I can't fathom, he actually prefers me to be alive. I think that's nice, and if I could have feelings at all I would have them for him.

There's something strange with looking at a crime scene in daylight, it makes even the most grotesque killings look staged, like you're in the new Jeffrey Dahmer section of Disney world.

The cop at the entrance to the parking lot was a guy I knew. He waved me in and I found a spot.

''Tai'' I say as I strolled over. He was standing there in the basic police uniform, it fitted him well, blue looked good on him. ''You look as adorable as usual, do you think I can kiss you?''

''Fuck off'' he says, and he blushed, it really was something to see in a full-grown cop.

''They found another hooker'' he say. ''At least, they think it's a hooker. Hard to tell from what's left''. The comment made me laugh, he glared at me. He never really found things like that funny. It's a pity really.

''That's the third in the last five months'' I say, trying to stifle my laughter.

''Fifth'' he tells me. ''There were two more up in Broward''. He shook his head. ''These assholes keep saying that officially there's no connection.''

''It would make for an awful lot of paperwork'' I say helpfully.

Taiga shows me his teeth. ''How about some basic fucking police work?'' he snarls. ''A moron could see these kills are connected.'' And he gave a little shudder. Taiga had so much potential and passion to be a detective, but for some reason people choose to disrespect him. He lived the first years of his life in America and sometimes his Japanese gets a little…Strange, but really I don't find that to be a valid reason. But then again what do I know?

Taiga was a natural talent, the older cops tried to scare him with showing him the mutilated bodies that turned up now and then, to make him throw up his lunch, He didn't even blink. He's seen it all. Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt. But this one made him shudder.

''This one is special, is that it?'' I ask him.

''This one is on my beat, with the hookers.'' He points a finger at me. ''And THAT means I've got a shot to get in on it, get noticed, and pull a transfer into Homicide.''

''Do they have any suspects?'' I ask, He signed clearly annoyed ''I don't know, Lieutenant Momoi sent me here to talk to the girls again, even though it has been done several times by several cops. When I told her that she told me that I better do what I am told and stay out of her sight if I wanted to keep my job''

''God forbid that she ever listens to what you have to say'' Momoi hated my brother, the hatred was most likely formed during a case when they had conflicting theory's and the guy she's in love with choose his side, and even worse he had right. After that she made sure he was the stations joke.

He scoffed ''Tell me about it, how does somebody that dumb get so much power, I don't get it''

''She knows how to play the game'' I tell him, ''You could take a lesson'' I say with a smile.

He returns it ''In what? Ass kissing?'' I sign,

''In politics'' Taiga was way too honest to ever do the dirty tricks that you have to do though, I admire that about him.

I gave him my happy smile ''Ambition, Eh Taiga?''

''Goddamned right,'' he said. ''I want into Homicide, Kazunari, and this could be my ticket. With one small break—'' he paused. And then he said something absolutely amazing. ''Please help me, Kazu,'' he said. ''I really hate this.''

''Please, Taiga? You're saying please to me? Do you know how nervous that makes me?'' I say in mock concern, before laughing.

''Cut the crap, Kazu.'' He tells me, but a blush of embarrassment is clearly visible on his cheeks.

''But Taiga, really—'' He interrupts me

''Cut it, I said. Will you help me or not?''

When he put it that way, with that strange rare please dangling in the air, what else could I say but, ''Of course I will, Tai. You know that''.

And he eyed me hard, taking back his please. ''I don't know it, Kazu. I don't know anything with you'' He lets out a somewhat sad sigh.

''Of course I'll help, Tai,'' I repeated, trying to sound hurt. And doing a really good imitation of injured dignity ''What should I do?'' I ask him and his face lit up.

''Well you know you get these...Hunches about these types of murders.'' I look away trying to hide my amusement with what he said.

''Oh I only get them sometimes'' He rolls his eyes and gives me a look that says that I'm full of shit.

''Well see if you get any of them this time, and then before I say anything about what I think please come and talk to me. I get smarter when I talk to you.'' He says with a shy smile.

''You just need more confidence'' I tell him, and he looks at me with doubt. ''Fine I'll take a look, and you will go and talk to Captain Imayoshi, I'm sure he'll put you on the case'' He looks down at that

''Well I don't really want people to think I got into the case because me and the captain are childhood friends…'' Taiga did make a good point there but most people didn't know of their past, Imayoshi's and Taiga's dads were really close, best friends actually, so they practically grew up together.

''Oh come on Tai, nobody knows that! Go and show the lieutenant she's wrong'' I tell him. And then I head for the pool with the rest of the lab rats.

When I get there I was greeted with a happy ''Takaoicchi ~!'' Kise Ryota, the lead

forensic and former model. Kise was great at his job, one of the best and he got along fine with everybody at the station (especially the ladies). Some people underestimate, and sometimes disrespect, him because of his former job, which is a pity.

''Ne, what are you doing here?'' He asks me, clearly confused but happy at the same time, he always got excited when it was about his friends, which he consider me as.

I in return give him a little smile ''um It's a crime scene''

''But you do blood spatter…?'' he says even more confused.

''Um yeah, so?'' Kise is really making me confused now.

''Um what do you mean 'so'? There's no blood.'' He tells me.

''Wait, what was that?'' I ask him, I'm really confused now. What does he mean with no blood?

Kise gets this look on his face ''Yeah there is no blood in, on or near the body, It's the weirdest thing ever''

No blood at all. I could hear that phrase repeat itself in my head, louder each time. No sticky, hot, messy, awful blood. No splatter. No stain. NO BLOOD AT ALL.

Why hadn't I thought of that?

It felt like a missing piece to something I didn't know was incomplete.

I don't pretend to understand what it is about me and blood. Just thinking of it sets my teeth on edge—and yet I have, after all, made it my career, my study, and part of my real work. Clearly some very deep things are going on, but I find it a little hard to stay interested. I am what I am, and isn't it a lovely night to dissect a child killer?

But this— No blood. What a beautiful idea.

''Takaoicchi are you okay?'' He asks concerned and puts his hand on my shoulder.

''Um yeah, how do he do it? How does he kill and get rid of the blood?''

''It's hard to say, the body is in good shape'' I got scared and looked in the direction of the voice, which of course came from Kuroko Tetsuya, a detective, he has this skill of always being unnoticed. You never get used to it.

''This is unique'' I tell them, while inhaling, I can't help but admire the body, it's so…

''Oh you tell me Takaoicchi!'' Kise says ''There are no prints either''

I've never seen such clean, dry and neat looking dead flesh. Wonderful. ''Very clean'' I

try to leave the amazement out of my voice, and I really hope it works.

''Yeah but he didn't finish'' Kuroko tells me.

''It looks pretty complete to me''

''No, look. He cut this leg in four pieces, almost like with a ruler. But this leg'' he says pointing to the left leg ''Is in three pieces'' he point to a cut on the leg ''and he started making the fourth cut, but then stopped. It's possible that he got interrupted''

Kise nodded ''Momoicchi is looking for witnesses''

No blood. I can't think, I need to get out of here.

''Takao, Where are you going?'' Kuroko asks me. ''Hey no blood'' I say happily and smile at him.

''Oh can you say hi to Kagami if you see him?'' He ask me, Kuroko was the one of the few at the station who respected Kagami and saw his potential. I laugh ''of course I will!''

When I walk away my head is in chaos, it's empty yet thoughts fly around like crazy.

I saw Momoi talking with the press; it was what she was best at after all. There was a rumor going around a few years back that Detective Momoi Satsuki got into the Homicide department by sleeping with somebody. To look at her once you might buy into that. She has all the necessary parts in the right places to be physically attractive in a sullen, aristocratic way. A true artist with her makeup and very well dressed,

Bloomingdale's chic. But the rumor can't be true. To begin with, although she seems outwardly very feminine, I've never met a woman who was more masculine inside. She was hard, ambitious in the most self-serving way, and her only weakness seemed to be for blue haired detectives. So I'm quite sure she didn't get into Homicide using sex. She got into Homicide because she's a woman, plays politics, and knows how to kiss ass. That combination is far better than sex.

Momoi is very very good at kissing ass, a world-class ass kisser. She kissed ass all the way up to the lofty rank of homicide investigator. Unfortunately, it's a job where her skills at posterior smooching were never called f It happens; incompetence is rewarded more often than not. I have to work with her anyway. So I have used my considerable charm to make her like me. Easier than you might think, anybody can be charming if they don't mind faking it, saying all the stupid, obvious, nauseating things that a conscience keeps most people from saying. Happily, I don't have a conscience. I say them or, and she was a terrible detective. She is good at finding information, but her instinct and skills were severely lacking.

I slowly leave the crime scene in a trance, but that bloodless body, this guy might have exceeded my own abilities.

The next day I went to the station as usual with donuts, people offering me their 'good mornings' and taking one. Treasure of the world these people, and they work hard but with a solve rate for murders about 20%, Miami is the perfect place for me.

''Kazu!'' Taiga is walking towards me with a smile, he has switch outfit from the blue uniform to the black ''Hey, I liked your other outfit better''

Taiga let out a sarcastic laughter ''Ha ha you're a sick bastard'' he tells me and takes a donut. ''Guess what? Captain Imayoshi put me on the case. Momoi wasn't happy but she can go fuck herself''

''I guess, so congratulation, my beautiful brother has finally gotten somewhere, you make me so proud Tai!'' I say over dramatically. His whole face gets red ''Oh shut up you…!''

''So do you have any ideas yet?'' He asks me,

''ah no'' my head was too busy admiring his work to actually think about who did.

Taiga believed that every now and then I got hunches. He had reason to believe. Usually my inspired guesses had to do with the brutal whackos who liked to hack up some poor slob every few weeks just for the hell of it. Several times Taiga had seen me put a quick and clean finger on something that nobody else knew was there.

He had never said anything, but my brother is a damned good cop, and so he has suspected me of something for quite a while. He doesn't know what, but he knows there is something wrong there and it bothers the hell out of him every now and then, because he does, after all, love me.

The last living thing on the earth that does love me, this is not self-pity but the coldest, clearest self-knowledge. I am unlovable. Following Hiroto's plan, I have tried to involve myself in other people, in relationships, and even—in my sillier moments—in love. But it doesn't work. Something in me is broken or missing, and sooner or later the other person catches me Acting, or one of Those Nights comes along.

''Ah well tell me when you got any theory's, I really need all the help I can get'' Ah, there it was again Taiga underestimating himself; he really could do so much good if he were more confident. ''Well thanks for the donut but I got to go'' he tells me and walks away after stealing another donut.

I walk around the department handing out donuts and smiles. In the end the box became like me, empty inside.

My office was full of pictures of blood spatter; I spun around in my chair looking at the pictures. My mind returned again to the body, no blood the thought seems so unbelievable still. My train of thought got interrupted by the stations best, Sergeant Aomine Daiki, approaching me ''Having fun, Takao? Where the hell have you been?''

I spin the chair to his direction ''Crime scene'' I answer him, clean and simple with a charming smile. He throws some pictures down on my desk

''What about these? The hotel cokehead murders, the dealer and the girl'' I take a look at the pictures one by one, the murder was messy and not at all like his murder. ''Oh, Well this couple didn't die by the hands of a professional, that's for sure.'' I give the picture a displeased look ''this is Childs play, it's so messy, all that blood on the wall looks like a finger painting.''

Aomine gives me a disgusted look ''You give me the creeps, you fucking know that, Takao?''

I laugh ''Haha yeah I know'' I smile brightly at him ''Sorry about that''

Aomine glares at me ''Fuck you'' I glance to the side ''Um okay ah- is there something I could do-''

''Yeah you could give me the fucking analysis on these blood spatters. Do you think I'm here to invite you to my nephew's birthday party?'' Aomine said with his ever so harsh absolutely irresistibly charming voice.

''Oh I didn't know you had a sibling'' That seems to have enraged Aomine even more.

''Shut the fuck up, and write your report already. Don't even know what I need you for, grab a crayon, psycho, and scribble this down, rival dealer comes in, two scumbags slashed to hell, dealer took the drugs. Bam done, I don't give a shit what you say because that is what happened and that's who I'm looking for. Got it?''

His charm shot right into my heart, I imagine how much lucky he must have with the ladies ''Yeah. Sure got it'' I say, unconvinced. ''But I should get over there''

''Then get over there you fucking weirdo, I need it quic-''

''Don't be so mean Mine-chin'' Aomine was interrupted by a detective, Murasakibara Atsushi; he was a good detective his only problem was that his passion laid more on his precious candy than his cases.

''Shut up, you're only defending him because he gives you donuts'' Aomine says, annoyed.

''No one who likes donut can be bad Mine-chin'' Atsushi answered with childish glee. It seems as if Aomine didn't have the heart to say anything. Murasakibara might be the biggest one in the building but he still somehow manages to be the super cute baby that everybody spoils and is unfortunately his charms somehow works on me too, seeing as I've grown a soft spot for him, as I said I like children.

''Whatever, I need the report quick, just fix it Takao''

''I'm on it''

My only question is, in a building full of cops why is he the only one who gets the creeps from me.

There is no starry sky anywhere like the starry sky in South Florida when you are fourteen and camping out with Dad, even if he's only your foster dad. And even if the sight of all those stars merely fills you with a kind of satisfaction, emotion being out of the question. You don't feel it. That's part of the reason you're here.

The fire has died down and the stars are exceedingly bright and foster dear old dad has been quiet for some time, taking small sips on the old-fashioned hip flask he has pulled from the outside flap of his pack. And he's not very good at this, not like so many other cops, not really a drinker. But it's empty now, and it's time for him to say his piece if he's ever going to say it.

''You're different, Kazunari'' he says.

I look away from the brightness of the stars. Around the small and sandy clearing the last glow of the fire is making shadows. Some of them trickle across dad's face. He looks strange to me, like I've never seen him before. Determined, unhappy, a little dazed.

''What do you mean, Dad?''

He won't look at me. ''The Billups say Buddy has disappeared'' he says.

''Noisy little creep. He was barking all night. Mom couldn't sleep''.

Mom needed her sleep, of course. Dying of cancer requires plenty of rest, and she wasn't getting it with that awful little dog across the street yapping at every leaf that blew down the sidewalk.

''I found the grave,'' dad says. ''There were a lot of bones in there, Not just Buddy's''.

There's very little to say here. I carefully pull at a handful of pine needles and wait for Hiroto.

''How long have you been doing this?''

I search my foster father's face, then look out across the clearing to the beach. Our boat is there, moving gently with the surge of the water. The lights of Miami are off to the right, a soft white glow. I can't figure out where he is going, what he wants to hear. But he is my straight-arrow foster dad; the truth is usually a good idea with Hiroto. He always knows, or he finds out.

''A year and a half,'' I say.

Hiroto nods.'' Why did you start?''

A very good question, and certainly beyond me at fourteen. '' It just—I kind of . . . had to'', I tell him. Even then, so young but so smooth.

''Do you hear a voice?'' he wants to know. ''Something or somebody telling you what to do, and you had to do it?''

''Uh,'' I say with fourteen-year-old eloquence, ''not exactly.''

''Tell me'' Hiroto says.

Oh for a moon, a good fat moon, something bigger to look at. I clutch another fistful of pine needles. My face is hot, as if Dad has asked me to talk about sex dreams. ''Which, in a way— It, uh . . . I kind of, you know, feel something'', I say. ''Inside. Watching me.

Maybe, um. Laughing? But not really a voice, just—'' An eloquent teenaged shrug. But it seems to make sense to Hiroto.

''And this something; it makes you kill things?''

High overhead a slow fat jet crawls by. ''Not, um, doesn't make me, I say. Just—makes it seem like a good idea?''

''Have you ever wanted to kill something else? Something bigger than a dog?'' I try to answer but there is something in my throat. I clear it.'' Yes,'' I say.

''A person?''

''Nobody in particular, Dad. Just—'' I shrug again.

''Why didn't you?''

''It's—I thought you wouldn't like it. You and Mom.''

''That's all that stopped you?''

''I, uh—I didn't want you, um, mad at me. Uh . . . you know. Disappointed.''

I steal a glance at Hiroto. He is looking at me, not blinking.'' Is that why we took this trip, Dad? To talk about this?''

''Yes,'' Hiroto says. "We need to get you squared away."

Squared away, oh yes, a completely Hiroto's idea of how life is lived, with hospital corners and polished shoes. And even then I knew; needing to kill something every now and then would pretty much sooner or later get in the way of being squared away.

''How?'' I ask, and he looks at me long and hard, and then he nods when he sees that I am with him step for step.

''Good boy'', he says. Now, And in spite of saying now, it is a very long time before he speaks again. I watch the lights on a boat as it goes past, maybe two hundred yards out from our little beach. Over the sound of their motor a radio is blasting Cuban music. I look at him. But he is looking away, across the dying fire, off into the future over there somewhere. It's like this, he says. I listen carefully. This is what Harry says when he is giving you a higher-order truth. When he showed me how to throw a curve ball, and how to throw a left hook, It's like this , he would say, and it always was, just like that.

''I'm getting old.'' He waited for me to object, but I didn't, and he nodded. ''I think people understand things different when they get older'', he says.'' It's not a question of getting soft, or seeing things in the gray areas instead of black and white. I really believe I'm just understanding things different. Better.'' He looks at me, Hiroto's look, Tough Love with blue eyes.

''Okay'', I say.

''Ten years ago I would have wanted you in an institution somewhere,'' he says, and I blink. That almost hurts, except I've thought of it myself.'' Now,'' he says, ''I think I know better. I know what you are, and I know you're a good kid.''

''No,'' I say, and it comes out very soft and weak.

''Yes,'' he says firmly. ''You're a good kid, Kazunari, I know that. I know it,'' almost to himself now, for effect maybe, and then his eyes lock onto mine. ''Otherwise, you wouldn't care what I thought, or what Mom thought. You'd just do it. You can't help it, I know that. Because—'' He stops and just looks at me for a moment. It's very uncomfortable for me. ''What do you remember from before?'' he asked. ''You know. Before we took you in.''

That still hurts, but I really don't know why. I was only three. ''Nothing.''

''Good'', he says. ''Nobody should remember that.'' And as long as he lives that will be the most he ever says about it.

'' But even though you don't remember, Kazu, it did things to you. Those things make you what you are. I've talked to some people about this.''

And strangest of strange, he gives me a very small, almost shy, Hiroto smile. ''I've been expecting this. What happened to you when you were a little kid has shaped you. I've tried to straighten that out, but—'' He shrugs. ''It was too strong, too much. It got into you too early and it's going to stay there. It's going to make you want to kill. And you can't help that. You can't change that. But,'' he says, and he looks away again,'' to see what I can't tell. But you can channel it. Control it. Choose-''his words come so carefully now, more careful than I've ever heard him talk ''—choose what . . . or who . . . you kill . . .'' And he gave me a smile unlike any I had ever seen before, a smile as bleak and dry as the ashes of our dying fire. ''There are plenty of people who deserve it, Kazu . . .''

And with those few little words he gave a shape to my whole life, my everything, my who and what I am. The wonderful, all-seeing, all-knowing man. Hiroto. My dad.

So long ago now. Hiroto long dead. But his lessons had lived on. Not because of any warm and gooey emotional feelings I had. Because Harry was right. I'd proved that over and over. Hiroto knew, and Hiroto taught me well.

Be careful, Hiroto said. And he taught me to be careful as only a cop could teach a killer.

To choose carefully among those who deserved it. To make absolutely sure. Then tidy up. Leave no traces. And always avoid emotional involvement; it can lead to mistakes.

Being careful went beyond the actual killing, of course. Being careful meant building a careful life, too. Compartmentalize. Socialize. Imitate life.

All of which I had done, so very carefully. I was a near perfect hologram. Above suspicion, beyond reproach, and beneath contempt. A neat and polite monster, the boy next door. Even Taiga was at least half fooled, half the time. Of course, he believed what he wanted to believe, too. I could help him. But I didn't really want to, because I enjoyed watching this other killer work and felt some kind of aesthetic connection, or—

Emotional involvement.

Well. There it was. I was in clear violation of the Code of Hiroto.

I nosed the boat back toward my canal. It was full dark now, but I steered by a radio tower a few degrees to the left of my home water.

So be it. Hiroto had always been right, he was right now. Don't get emotionally involved , Hiroto had said. So I wouldn't.

I would help Tai.

Friday night, date night in Miami. Well every night is date night in Miami. And believe it or not it was date night for Kazunari too. Oddly enough, I had found somebody. What, what? Deeply dead Kazunari dating debutante doxies? Sex among the Undead? Has my need to imitate life gone all the way to faking orgasms?

Breathe easy. Sex never entered into it. After years of dreadful fumbling and embarrassment trying to look normal, I had finally hooked up with the perfect date.

Midorima Shintarou, he was almost, in his own way as broken as me.

His mother got married too early she had fought to make it work for ten years and two kids. Her charming life mate had a few small problems. First alcohol, then heroin, believe it or not, and finally crack. He beat her, the brute. Broke furniture, screamed, and threw things and made threats. Then raped her in front of Shintarou and his sister. Infected her with some dreadful crack-house diseases. All this on a regular basis, and she endured, worked, fought him through rehab twice. Then he went after the kids one night and she finally put her foot down. He went to jail and she hung herself, not being able to live with herself.

After watching his mother get raped Shintarou had no desire what so ever in any sexual acts, which for me is perfect. He had searched for just the right guy: sensitive, gentle, and willing to wait. Quite a long search, of course. He was looking for some imaginary man who cared more about having someone to talk to and see movies with than someone to have sex with, because he was Just Not Ready for That.

Did I say imaginary? Well, yes. Human men are not like that, And as a by-product of recovering from his awful childhood, instead of realizing that all men are beasts, he had come up with this lovely romantic picture of a perfect gentleman who would wait indefinitely for him to open slowly, like a little flower.

Well. Really, perhaps such a man existed in Victorian England—when there was a knocking shop on every corner where he could blow off steam between flowery protestations of frictionless love. But not, to my knowledge, in twenty-first-century Miami.

And yet—I could imitate all those things perfectly. And I actually wanted to. I had no interest in a sexual relationship. I wanted a disguise; Shintarou was exactly what I was looking for.

Perhaps that was part of my strange liking for Him and his sister. Because I did like them, and that made no sense to me. I know what I am and I understand many things about myself. But one of the few character traits that genuinely mystifies me is my attitude toward children, and now Shintarou. I like them. They are important to me. They matter.

We have been dating for about a year now, I had slowly and deliberately won over both of them, I was okay. I wouldn't hurt them. I remembered their birthdays, report-card days, holidays. I could come into their house and would do no harm. I could be trusted. Ironic, really. But true.

Shintarou opens the door ''Ah Kazunari, You're here, I'm not quite ready yet'' He moves aside a bit, so I can go inside ''Just wait here a bit I just have to change'' from the looks of it Shintarou has had a hard day at work, his hair was messy and a frown was still visible on his face. I walked to the sofa which his little sister, Maki, sat in. Maki was a sweet 10 year old girl, she was awfully quiet for a girl her age, which was sad. She had mental scars that would last for a life time.

''May I say you look lovely this evening?'' I ask her, a true smile forming on my lips. She looked at me, with a slight blush and a smile ''You may''

''Hey come with me to the kitchen, I have a surprise for you~'' I grab my bag and lead her to the kitchen. I take something out of my bag ''Strawberry ice cream, your favorite'' Her face lit up in excitement, the older Midorima cuts in as usual with his no-nonsense attitude ''Don't eat too much of that sweet thing or you will get holes in your teeth''

''Oh come on Shin-chan, Live a little, Maki eat as much as you want'' Shintarou gives me a warning glare. Not that I care about it. ''Well see you later Maki, don't stay up late'' Maki gives a nod as a 'I won't'.

I take my bag and walk to the door where Shintarou is standing, waiting for me, I take his hand in mine ''See you later Maki!''

First we went to watch a movie, the movie was nothing special. I didn't really want to throw up, but I'd forgotten most of it by the time we stopped at a small place in South Beach for a late-night drink, Shintarou's idea. In spite of living in Miami for most of his life, he still thought South Beach was glamorous. Perhaps it was all the Rollerblades. Or maybe he thought that any place so full of people with bad manners had to be glamorous. The only one in that place that was glamorous was him. He had this skill of always looking beautiful and respectable.

In any case, we waited twenty minutes for a small table and then sat and waited another twenty for service. I didn't mind. I enjoyed watching good-looking idiots looking at each other, a great spectator sport.

We strolled along Ocean Boulevard afterward, making pointless conversation—an art at which I excel. It was a lovely night. One corner was chewed off the full moon of a few nights ago, when I had entertained Father Donovan.

And as we drove back to Shintarou's South Miami house after our standard evening out, we passed an intersection in one of Coconut Grove's less wholesome areas. A winking red light caught my eye and I glanced down the side street. Crime scene: the yellow tape was already up, and several cruisers were nosed into a hurried splay.

It's him again, I thought, and even before I knew what I meant by that I was swinging the car down the street to the crime scene.

''Kazunari what's going on?'' He asks quite reasonably.

''Ah they might need me'' ha ha probably not I just want to see his work again.

''Don't you have your beeper?''

''They don't always know they need me'' I give him a grin, ''don't worry Shin-chan''

I had a feeling it was him again.

I left Shintarou in the car, rushing towards the crime scene. He was up to no good again, the rascal. There was the same stack of neatly wrapped body parts.

On the crime scene, just as the last time, were Kuroko and Kise.

''The rest of us are complaining that we have to work on Friday night'' Kise said. ''You show up with a date. And there is still nothing for you here. I'M SO JEALOUS TAKAOICCHI!''

''Same guy, same pattern?'' I ask directing my question to Kuroko.

''Same'' Kuroko answers. He flipped the plastic away with his pen. ''Bone dry, again, No blood at all.''

The words made me feel slightly light-headed. I leaned in for a look. Once again the body parts were amazingly clean and dry. They had a near blue tinge to them and seemed preserved in their small perfect moment of time. Wonderful.

''Hey don't ignore me.'' Kise pouts

''A small difference in the cuts this time,'' Kuroko says, still ignoring Kise.'' In four places.'' He pointed. ''Very rough here, almost emotional. Then here, not so much. Here and here, in between. Huh?''

''Very nice,'' I says.

''And then look at this,'' he says. He nudged aside the bloodless chunk on top with a pencil. Underneath another piece gleamed white. The flesh had been flayed off very carefully, lengthwise, to reveal a clean bone.

''Why he would do like that?'' Kuroko aska softly.

I breathed. ''He's experimenting,'' I say.'' Trying to find the right way.'' And I stared at the neat, dry section until I became aware that Kuroko had been looking at me for a very long moment.

Like a kid playing with his food, is how I described it to Shintarou when I returned to the car.

''My God,'' Shintarou say. ''That's horrible''.

''I think the correct word is heinous'' I say.

''How can you joke about it, Kazunari?'' He response with a glare.

I give him a reassuring smile. ''You kind of get used to it in my line of work. We all make jokes to hide our pain.''

''Well, good lord, I hope they catch this maniac soon.'' He told me clutching his necklace. The necklace was a normal silver chain; but to him it was special. It was today's lucky item. My boyfriend has a strange obsession with Oha-asa, which is some astrology thingy. I don't really know much about it but it means much to him.

''Not too soon…'' I tell him. I thought of the neatly stacked body parts, the variety of the cuts, the wonderful total lack of blood.

''What did you say?'' he asked slightly disturbed

''I said, I don't think it will be too soon. The killer is extremely clever, and the detective in charge of the case is more interested in playing politics than in solving murders''.

He looked at me to see if I was kidding. Then he sat quietly for a while as we drove south on U.S. 1. He didn't speak until South Miami.

''I can never get used to seeing . . . I don't know. The underside? The way things really are? The way you see it,'' he finally said.

He took me by surprise. I had been using the silence to think about the nicely stacked body parts we had just left. My mind had been hungrily circling the clean dry chopped-up limbs like an eagle looking for a chunk of meat to rip out. Shintarou's observation was so unexpected I couldn't even stutter for a minute. ''What do you mean?'' I managed to say at last.

He frowned. ''We all assume that . . .things . . . really are a certain way. The way they're supposed to be? And then they never are, they're always more . . . Darker? More human. Like this. I'm thinking, of course the detective wants to catch the killer, isn't that what detectives do? And it never occurred to me before that there could be anything at all political about murder.''

''Practically everything'', I say. I turned onto his street and slowed down in front of his neat and unremarkable house.

''But you,'' he says. He didn't seem to notice where we were or what I had said. ''That's where you start. Most people would never really think it through that far.''

''I'm not all that deep, Shin-chan, ''I say. I nudged the car into park.

''It's like everything really is two ways, the way we all pretend it is and the way it really is. And you already know that and it's like a game for you.''

I had no idea what he was trying to say. In truth, I had given up trying to figure it out and, as he spoke, I'd let my mind wander back to the newest murder; the cleanness of the flesh, the improvisational quality of the cuts, the complete dry spotless immaculate lack of blood—

''Kazunari— ''he says as he put a hand on my arm.

I kiss him.

I don't know which one of us was more surprised. It really wasn't something I had

thought about doing ahead of time. And it certainly wasn't his perfume. But I mashed my lips against his and held them there for a long moment.

He pushed away.

''No,'' he protested ''I— No, Kazunari''

''All right'' I say, still shocked at what I had done.

''I don't think I want to—I'm not ready for— Damn it, Kazunari,'' he said. He unclipped his seat belt, opened the car door, and ran into his house.

Oh, dear, I thought. What on earth have I done now?

And I knew I should be wondering about that, and perhaps feeling disappointed that I had just destroyed my disguise after a year of hard maintenance.

But all I could think about was that neat stack of body parts.

No blood.

None at all.

This body is stretched out just the way I like it. The arms and legs are secure and the mouth is stopped with duct tape so there will be no noise and no spill into my work area. And my hand feels so steady with the knife that I am quite sure this will be a good one, very satisfying—

Except it's not a knife, it's some kind of—

Except it's not my hand. Even though my hand is moving with this hand, it's not mine that holds the blade. And the room really is sort of small; it's so narrow, which makes sense because it's—what?

And now here I am floating above this perfect tight work space and its tantalizing body and for the first time I feel the cold blowing around me and even through me somehow. And if I could only feel my teeth I am quite sure they would chatter. And my hand in perfect unison with that other hand goes up and arches back for a perfect cut—

And of course I wake up in my apartment. Standing somehow by the front door,

completely naked, sleepwalking I could understand, but sleep stripping? Really, I stumble back to my little trundle bed. The covers are in a heap on the floor. The air conditioner has kicked the temperature down close to sixty. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, last night, feeling a little estranged from it all after what had happened with Shintarou. Preposterous, if it had really happened. Kazunari, the love bandit, stealing kisses. And so I had taken a long hot shower when I got home and shoved the thermostat all the way down as I climbed into bed. I don't pretend to understand why, but in my darker moments I find cold cleansing. Not refreshing so much as necessary.

And cold it was, far too cold now, for coffee and the start of the day amid the last tattered pieces of the dream.

As a rule I don't remember my dreams, and don't attach any importance to them if I do.

So it was ridiculous that this one was staying with me.

—floating above this perfect tight work space—my hand in perfect unison with that other hand goes up and arches back for a perfect cut—

I've read the books. Perhaps because I'll never be one, humans are interesting to me. So I know all the symbolism: Floating is a form of flying, meaning sex. And the knife—

Ja, Herr Doktor. The knife ist eine mother, ja?

Snap out of it, Kazunari.

Just a stupid, meaningless dream.

The telephone rang and I almost jumped out of my skin.

''How about breakfast at Wolfie's?'' asked Taiga.'' My treat.''

''It's Saturday morning,'' I said. ''We'll never get in.''

''I'll get there first and get a table,'' he said. ''Meet you there.''

And he sat there, dear Taiga, looking unhappy. My family. Staring at me and not knowing what to say, but coming closer to saying it than ever before.

''Well, actually—''

''I knew it! You DO have something!''

''Don't interrupt my trance, Taiga. I'm in touch with the spirit realm.''

''Spit it out,'' he says in excitement

''It's the interrupted cut, Tai. The left leg.''

''What about it?'' He asks

''Momoi thinks the killer was discovered. Got nervous, didn't finish.''

Taiga nodded. ''She had me asking hookers last night if they saw anything. Somebody must have.''

''Oh, not you, too,'' I said. ''Think, Taiga. If he was interrupted—too scared to finish—''

''The wrapping,'' he blurted. ''He still spent a lot of time wrapping the body, cleaning up''. He looks surprised. ''Shit. After he was interrupted?''

I clapped my hands and beamed at her. ''Bravo, Miss Marple.''

''Then it doesn't make sense.''

''Au contraire. If there is plenty of time, but the ritual is not completed properly—and remember, Tai, the ritual is nearly everything—what's the implication?''

''Why can't you just tell me, for God's sake?'' he snapped.

''What fun would that be?'' I grinned at him.

He blew out a hard breath.'' Goddamn it. All right, Kazu. If he wasn't interrupted, but he didn't finish— Shit. The wrapping-up part was more important than the cutting?''

I took pity on him.'' No, Tai. Think. This is the fifth one, exactly like all the others. Four left legs cut perfectly. And now number five—''I shrugged, raised an eyebrow at him.

''Aw, shit, Kazu. How should I know? Maybe he only needed four left legs. Maybe . . . I don't know, I swear to God. What?''

I smiled and shook my head. To me it was so clear. ''The thrill is gone, Tai. Something just isn't right. It isn't working. Some essential bit of the magic that makes it perfect, isn't there.''

''I was supposed to figure that out?'' He asks looking at me with an annoyed expression.

''Somebody should, don't you think? And so he just sort of dribbles to a stop he's looking for inspiration and finding none.''

He frowned. ''So he's done. He won't do this again?''

I laughed.'' Oh my God, no, Tai. Just the opposite. If you were a priest, and you truly believed in God but couldn't find the right way to worship him, what would you do?''

''Keep trying,'' he said, ''until I got it right.'' He stared hard.'' Jesus. That's what you think? He's going to do it again soon?''

''It's just a hunch,'' I said modestly. I could be wrong. But I was sure I was not wrong.

''We should be setting up a way to catch him when he does,'' he says. ''Not looking for a nonexistent witness. God damn it she's dumber than a fucking boat''

''What do you know about cell crystallization?'' He asks.

I blinked. ''Wow, You just blew away all the competition in the Subject Changing Tournament.''

''I'm serious,''

''Then I really am floored, Tai. What do you mean, cell crystallization?''

''From cold,'' he says. ''Cells that have crystallized from cold.''

Light flooded my brain. ''Of course,'' I said, beautiful, and somewhere deep inside small bells began to ring. Cold . . . Clean, pure cold and the cool knife almost sizzling as it slices into the warm flesh, antiseptic clean coldness, the blood slowed and helpless, so absolutely right and totally necessary; cold. ''Why didn't I—'' I started to say. I shut up when I saw Taiga's face.

''What,'' Tai demanded. ''What of course?''

I shook my head. ''First tell me why you want to know.''

He looked at me for a long hard moment and blew out another breath. ''I think you know, there's been another murder.''

''I know, I said. ''I passed it last night.''

''I heard you didn't actually pass it.''

I shrugged. ''Metro Dade is such a small family.''

''So what did that 'of course' mean?'' He pressed on

''Nothing,'' I said, mildly irritated at last. ''The flesh of the body just looked a little different. If it was subjected to cold—'' I held out my hands.

''That's all, okay? How cold?''

''Like meat-packing cold,'' he said.'' Why would he do that?''

Because it's beautiful, I thought. ''It would slow the flow of blood,'' I said.

He studied me. ''Is that important?''

I took a long and perhaps slightly shaky breath. Not only could I never explain it, he would lock me up if I tried. ''It's vital,'' I said. For some reason I felt embarrassed.

''Why vital?'' Oh God, why can't he let it go?

''It, ah—I don't know. I think he has a thing about blood, Tai. Just a feeling I got from—I don't know, no evidence, you know.''

He was giving me that look again. I tried to think of something to say, but I couldn't, silver-tongued Kazunari Takao, with a dry mouth and nothing to say.

''Shit,'' he said at last. ''That's it? Cold slows the blood, and that's vital? Come on. What the hell good is that, Kazu?''

''I don't do 'good' before coffee, Taiga,'' I said with a heroic effort at recovery. ''Just accurate.''

''Shit,'' he said again. Rose, the shop owner and old friend to our dad, brought our coffee. Taiga sipped. ''Last night I got an invite to the seventy-two-hour briefing,'' he said.

I clapped my hands. ''Wonderful. You've arrived. What do you need me for?'' Metro Dade has a policy of pulling the homicide team together approximately seventy-two hours after a murder. The investigating officer and her team talk it over with the Medical Examiner and, sometimes, someone from the prosecutor's office. It keeps everyone on the same heading. If Taiga had been invited, he was on the case.

He scowls.'' I'm not good at politics, Takao. I can feel Momoi pushing me out, but I can't do anything about it.''

''Is she still looking for her mystery witness?''

Taiga nodded.

''Really. Even after the new kill last night?'' I roll my eyes, really how stupid can you get…

''She says that proves it. Because the new cuts were all complete.''

''But they were all different '', I protested. I somehow I feel the need to defend the killer…

He shrugged.

''And you suggested—?''

Tai looked away. ''I told her I thought it was a waste of time to look for a witness when it was obvious that the killer wasn't interrupted, just unsatisfied.''

''Ouch,'' I said. ''You really don't know anything about politics''.

''Well, goddamn it, Kazu,'' he said. Two old ladies at the next table glared at him. He didn't notice. ''What you said made sense. It's obvious, and she's ignoring me. And even worse.''

''What could be worse than being ignored?'' I said.

He blushed. I caught a couple of the uniforms snickering at me afterward. ''There's a joke going around, and I'm it.'' he bit his lip and looked away. ''Einstein,'' he said.

''I'm afraid I don't get it.''

''If my misspellings were brains, I'd be Einstein,'' he said bitterly. I cleared my throat instead of laughing. ''That's what she's spreading about me,'' Tai went on.'' That kind of crappy little tag sticks to you, and then they don't promote you because they think nobody will respect you with a nickname like that. God damn it, Kazu, she's ruining my career.''

I felt a little surge of protective warmth. ''She's an idiot.''

''Should I tell her that, Kazu? Would that be political?'' I can't help but find his cluelessness kind of cute.

Our food arrived. Rose slammed the plates down in front of us as though she had been condemned by a corrupt judge to serve breakfast to baby killers. I gave her a gigantic smile and she trudged away, muttering to herself.

I took a bite and turned my thoughts to Taiga's problem. I had to try to think of it that way, Taiga's problem. Not those fascinating murders. Not that amazingly attractive MO, or the thing so similar to what I would love to do someday. I had to stay uninvolved, but this was pulling at me so very hard. Even last night's dream, with its cold air. Pure coincidence, of course, but unsettling anyway.

This killer had touched the heart of what my killing was about. In the way he worked, of course, and not in his selection of victims. He had to be stopped, certainly, no question. Those poor hookers.

Still . . . The need for cold . . . So very interesting to explore sometime. Find a nice dark, narrow place . . .

Narrow? Where had that come from?

My dream, naturally, but that was just saying that my unconscious wanted me to think about it, wasn't it? And narrow felt right somehow. Cold and narrow—

''Refrigerated truck'' I said.

I opened my eyes. Taiga struggled mightily with a mouthful of eggs before she could speak. ''What?''

''Oh, just a guess. Not a real insight, I'm afraid. But wouldn't it make sense?''

''Wouldn't what make sense?'' he asked.

I looked down at my plate and frowned, trying to picture how this would work. ''He wants a cold environment. To slow the blood flow, and because it's, uh—cleaner.''

''If you say so Kazu…'' He said not quite getting where I'm going with this.

''I do say so. And it has to be a narrow space—''

''Why? Where the hell did that come from, narrow?''

I chose not to hear that question.'' So a refrigerated truck would fit those conditions, and it's mobile, which makes it much easier to dump the garbage afterward.''

Taiga took a bite of his bagel and thought for a moment while he chewed. ''So,'' he said at last, and swallowed. ''The killer might have access to one of these trucks? Or own one?''

''Mmm, maybe. Except the kill last night was the first that showed signs of cold.''

Taiga frowned.'' So he went out and bought a truck?''

''Probably not. This is still experimental. It was probably an impulse to try cold.''

He nodded.'' And we would never get lucky enough that he drives one for a living or

something, right?''

I gave him my happy shark smile.'' Ah, Tai. How quick you are this morning. No, I'm afraid our friend is much too smart to connect himself that way.''

Taiga sipped his coffee, put the cup down, and leaned back. ''So we're looking for a stolen refrigerator truck'' he said at last.

''I'm afraid so'' I said. ''But how many of those can there be in the last forty-eight hours?''

''In Miami?'' he snorted. ''Somebody steals one, word gets out that it's worth stealing, and suddenly every goddamn two-bit original gangsta, marielito, crackhead, and junior wise guy has to steal one, just to keep up.''

''Let's hope word isn't out yet'', I said.

Taiga swallowed the last of his bagel. ''I'll check,'' he said. And then he reached across the table and squeezed my hand.'' I really appreciate this,'' he said. He gave me a couple of seconds of a shy, hesitant smile. ''But I worry about how you come up with this stuff, Kazu. I just . . . '' He looked down at the table and squeezed my hand again.

I squeezed back.'' Leave the worrying to me,'' I said. ''You just find that truck.''

In theory, metro's seventy two hour meeting gives everyone enough time to get somewhere with a case, but is soon enough that the leads are still warm. And so Monday morning, in a conference room on the second floor, the crack crime-fighting team led by the indomitable Lieutenant Momoi assembled once again for the seventy-two-hour. I assembled with them. I got some looks, and a few good-hearted remarks from the cops who knew me.

Unfortunately, these feelings were not shared by all present.'' The fuck you doing here?'' grunted Sergeant Aomine. He was a very large blue haired man with an injured air of permanent hostility. He had a cold ferocity to him that would certainly come in handy for somebody with my hobby. It was a shame we couldn't be friends

''I just dropped in to listen, Sergeant'' I told him.

''Got no fucking call to be here,'' he said.'' Get the fuck outta here'' Ah, he was as charming as ever. I might just dump Shintarou now, Aomine has truly swooned me.

''He can stay, Sergeant,'' Momoi told him.

Aomine scowl at her ''The fuck for?''

''I don't want to make anybody unhappy,'' I tell them, edging for the door without any real conviction.

''It's perfectly all right,'' Momoi said with an actual smile for me. She turned to Aomine.

''He can stay,'' she repeated, sounding like a mother scolding her bratty son.

''Let's get started,'' Momoi said, cracking her whip gently, leaving no room for doubt that she was in charge. Aomine slouched back in his chair with a last scowl at me.

The first part of the meeting was a matter of routine; reports, political maneuvers, all the little things that make us human, those of us who are human, anyway. Momoi briefed the information officers on what they could and could not release to the press. Things they could release included a new glossy photo of Momoi she'd made up for the occasion. It was serious and yet glamorous; intense but refined.

It took most of an hour before we got around to the actual murders. But finally Momoi asked for reports on the progress in finding her mystery witness. Nobody had anything to report. I tried hard to look surprised.

Momoi gave the group a frown of command.'' Come on, people,'' she said.'' Somebody needs to find something here.'' But nobody did, and there was a pause while the group studied their fingernails, the floor, the acoustic tiles in the ceiling.

Taiga cleared his throat. ''I, uh,'' he said and cleared his throat again.'' I had a, um, an idea. A different idea, about trying something in a slightly different direction'' He said it like it was in quotation marks, and indeed it was. All my careful coaching couldn't make him sound natural when he said it, but he had at least stuck to my carefully worded politically correct phrasing.

Momoi raised an artificially perfect eyebrow. ''An idea? Really?'' She made a face to show how surprised and delighted she was.'' Please, by all means, share it with us, Officer Ein—I mean, Officer Kagami.''

Aomine snickered. A delightful man, swoon.

Taiga flushed, but slogged on. ''The, um, cell crystallization, on the last victim. I'd like to check and see if any refrigerated trucks have been reported stolen in the last week or so.''

Silence, utter, dumb silence. The silence of the cows, they didn't get it, the brick heads, and Taiga was not making them see it. She let the silence grow, a silence Momoi milked with a pretty frown, a puzzled glance around the room to see if anybody else was following this, then a polite look at Taiga.

''Refrigerated . . . trucks?'' Momoi said.

Taiga looked completely flustered, the poor child. This was not a man who enjoyed public speaking. ''That's right'' he said.

Momoi let it hang, enjoying it. ''Mm-hmm,'' she said.

Taiga's face darkened; not a good sign. I cleared my throat, and when that didn't do any good I coughed, loud enough to remind him to stay cool. He looked at me. So did

Momoi.'' Sorry,'' I said. ''I think I'm getting a cold.''

Could anyone really ask for a better brother?

''The, um,cold ,'' Taiga, blurted, lunging at my lifeline. ''A refrigerated vehicle could probably cause that kind of tissue damage. And it's mobile, so he'd be harder to catch. And getting rid of the body would be a lot easier. So, uh, if one was stolen, I mean a truck . . . a refrigerated . . . that might give us a lead.''

Well, that was most of it, and he did get it out there. One or two thoughtful frowns blossomed around the room. I could almost hear gears turning.

But Momoi just nodded. ''That's a very . . . interesting thought, Officer,'' she said. She put just the smallest emphasis on the word officer, to remind us all that this was a democracy where anybody could speak up, ''but really . . . But I still believe that our best bet is to find the witness. We know he's out there.'' She smiled a politically shy smile. ''Or she '' she said, to show that she could be sharp. ''But somebody saw something. We know that from the evidence. So let's concentrate on that, and leave grasping at straws for the guys in Broward, okay?'' She paused, waiting for a little chuckle to run around the room. ''But Officer Kagami, I would appreciate your continued help talking to the hookers. They know you down there.''

My God, she was good. She had deflected anyone from possibly thinking about Tai's idea, put Tai in his place, and brought the team back together behind her with the joke about our rivalry with Broward County. All in a few simple words. I felt like applauding.

Except, of course, that I was on poor Taiga's team, and he had just been flattened. His mouth opened for a moment, then closed, and I watched his jaw muscles knot as he carefully pushed his face back into Cop Neutral. In its own way, a fine performance, but truly, not even in the same league as Momoi's.

The rest of the meeting was uneventful. There was really nothing to talk about beyond

what had been said. So very shortly after Momoi's masterful putdown, the meeting broke up and we were in the hall again.

''Damn her'' Taiga muttered under his breath'' Damn, damn, damn her!''

''Absolutely'' I agreed.

He glared at me. ''Thanks, bro. Some help you were.''

I raised my eyebrows at him ''But we agreed I would stay out of it. So you would get the credit.''

He snarled ''Some credit. She made me look like an idiot.''

''With absolute respect, brother dearest, you met her halfway.''

Taiga looked at me, looked away, threw up his hands with disgust. ''What was I supposed to say? I'm not even on the team. I'm just there because the captain said they had to let me in.''

''And he didn't say they had to listen to you'' I said.

''And they don't. And they won't,'' he said bitterly. ''Instead of getting me into homicide, this is going to kill my career. I'll die as a simple cop, Kazu.''

''There is a way out, Tai'' I said, and the look he turned on me now was only about one-third hope.

''What'' he asked.

I smile at him, my most comforting, challenging, I'm-not-really-a-shark smile. ''Find the truck'' I said.

It was three days before I heard from my dear foster brother again, a longish period for him to go without talking to me. He came into my office just after lunch on Thursday, looking sour. ''I found it, ''he said, and I didn't know what she meant.

''Found what, Tai?'' I asked. ''The Fountain of Grumpiness?''

''The truck,'' he said. ''The refrigerated truck.''

''But that's great news,'' I said. ''Why do you look like you're searching for somebody to slap?''

''Because I am,'' he said, and flung four or five stapled pages onto my desk. ''Look at this.''

I picked it up and glanced at the top page. ''Oh,'' I said. ''How many altogether?''

''Twenty-three,'' he said. ''In the last month, twenty-three refrigerator trucks have been reported stolen. The guys over on traffic say most of 'em turn up in canals, torched for the insurance money. Nobody pushes too hard to find them. So nobody's been pushing on these, and nobody's going to.''

''Welcome to Miami,'' I tell him.

Taiga sighed and took the list back from me, slouching into my extra chair like he'd just lost all his bones.'' There's no way I can check them all, not by myself. It would take months. Goddamn it, Kazu,'' he said.'' Now what do we do?''

I shook my head.'' I'm sorry, Tai,'' I said. ''But now we have to wait.''

''That's it? Just wait?''

''That's it'' I said.

Momoi Came towards us ''Excuse me, Takao? My office please'' she said, looking at Taiga with a smug grin, then she started walking towards her office, with me right behind.

I look back and see Taiga laughing and mouthing ''What the fuck? Are you fucking her?''

I give him a disgusted look and I shake my head. He then mouths ''Oh my god''

In her office prince charming, Aomine, was sitting in a chair. ''May I ask what this is about, Lieutenant?'' I ask her.

She takes a seat behind her desk, and gives me a smile ''Don't worry, it's just about the blood report of the coke head murders''

Aomine scoffs ''Just tell me what I want to hear so we both can go'' Momoi gives him a look of disapproval.

''Well, I'm sorry then Sergeant Aomine. It's not really what you thought it was. The rival dealer couldn't possibly have killed them'' I told him,

''What the hell are you talking about?'' Aomine started with anger clear in his voice.

''Daiki,'' Momoi warned him.

''Well you see the murders wasn't about the drugs,''

''Lieutenant I think this is a waste of our damn time'' Aomine protested.

''I agree with you on that'' Momoi stated.

''I ran the other reports, the forensic analysis, everybody agrees with me. The cokehead murders had nothing to do with cocaine; it was a crime of passion. The murderer came to kill the woman, not the dealer; he killed him quick, got him out of the way. But the woman; he took his sweet time slicing up and you don't do that unless you have a deep close personal relationship with someone; probably an ex-boyfriend, that's who'd look for.'' I tell him, with passion in my voice. Murders did get my blood pumping, even when I wasn't the one doing it.

Momoi smiles at me ''Okay'' she tells me, obviously convinced. Aomine looks at her like she has gone crazy. ''Sergeant you should check it out'' she tells him.

Aomine walks up to me ''I'm watching you, motherfucker.''

''Hey, I- I'm sorry. I mean I'm – sorry about the other night. But ah Look I – Kazu. I... I really really need to see you , so can you – can you come by? Later, Even just for a little

while, I mean – I'm really- '' He takes a deep breath ''What are you doing now''

I look back to the tied up dead body, I really wanted to say it – to hear his reaction. His reactions were the cutest thing ever but – I'm not stupid. ''Ah I'm just finishing up some project, but I'll – I'll come by later''

''Ah that's great – I mean um see you later''

All in all it was a good night, one less useless member of society, I could kill just fine but a talk with my boyfriend was making me nervous. I'm afraid that he'll…break up with me. The feeling is strange, and somewhat scary; I've never felt like this before. I never cared about anyone enough to be afraid to lose. I take a deep breath and start driving in the direction of his house, until I saw something, something that made my heart fill up with hope and my body with adrenaline, an ice truck.

''This was nothing'' I said to myself. Nighttime yogurt delivery; pork link sausages for breakfast, freshness guaranteed, a load of grouper headed north or to the airport, refrigerated trucks moved through Miami around the clock, even now, even in the night hours— This it was and nothing more.

But I put my foot down on the gas pedal anyway. I moved up, in and out of traffic. I got within three cars of the Corniche and its besieged driver. Traffic stopped. I looked ahead at the truck. It was running straight up Biscayne, moving into a series of traffic lights. I would lose him if I got too far behind. And I suddenly wanted very badly not to lose him.

I waited for a gap in traffic and quickly nosed out into the oncoming lane. I was around the Corniche and then speeding up, closing on the truck. Trying not to move too fast, not to be conspicuous, but slowly closing the space between us. He was three traffic lights ahead, then two.

Then his light turned red and before I could gloat and catch up, mine did, too. I stopped. I realized with some surprise that I was chewing on my lip. I was tense; me, Kazunari the Ice Cube. I was feeling human anxiety, desperation, actual emotional distress. I wanted to catch up to this truck and see for myself, oh how I wanted to put my hand on the truck, open the door to the cabin, look inside—

And then what? Arrest him single-handed? Take him by the hand to dear Lieutenant Momoi? See what I caught? Can I keep him? It was just as likely that he would keep me. He was in full hunting mode, and I was merely tagging along behind like an unwanted little brother. And why was I tagging along? Did I just want to prove to myself that it was him, that he was out here prowling and I was not crazy? And if I was not crazy—how had I known? What was going on in my brain? Perhaps crazy would be a happier solution after all.

An old man shuffled in front of my car, crossing the street with incredibly slow and painful steps. For a moment I watched him, marveling at what life must be like when you moved that slow, and then I glanced ahead at the refrigerator truck.

His light had turned green. Mine had not.

The truck accelerated quickly, moving north at the upper end of the speed limit, taillights

growing smaller as I watched, waiting for my light to change.

Which it refused to do, and so grinding my teeth—steady, Kazu!—I ran the light,

narrowly missing the old man. He didn't look up or break step.

The speed limit on this stretch of Biscayne Boulevard was thirty-five. In Miami that means if you go under fifty they will run you off the road. I pushed up to sixty-five, moving through the sparse traffic, desperate now to close the distance. The lights of the truck winked out as he went around a curve—or had he turned? I moved up to seventy-five and roared past the turn for the 79th Street Causeway, around the bend by the Publix Market, and into the straightaway, searching frantically for the truck.

And saw it. There—ahead of me—moving towards me.

The bastard had doubled back. Did he feel me on his tail? Smell my exhaust drifting up on him? No matter—it was him, the same truck, no question, and as I raced past him he turned out onto the causeway.

I squealed into a mall parking lot and slowed, turning the car and accelerating back out onto Biscayne Boulevard, southbound now. Less than a block and I turned onto the causeway, too. Far, far in front, nearly to the first bridge, I saw the small red lights, winking, mocking me. My foot crashed down on the gas pedal and I charged ahead.

He was on the up-slope of the bridge now, picking up speed, keeping the distance steady between us. Which meant he must know, must realize somebody was following. I pushed

my car a little harder; I got closer, little by little, a few lengths closer.

And then he was gone, over the hump at the top of the bridge and down the far side, heading much too fast into North Bay Village. It was a heavily patrolled area. If he went too fast he would be seen and pulled over. And then—

I was up the bridge and onto the hump now and below me—

Nothing.

Empty road.

I slowed, looking in all directions from the vantage point at the top of the bridge. A car moved toward me—not the truck, just a Mercury Marquis with one smashed fender. I

started down the far side of the bridge.

At the bottom of the bridge North Bay Village split off the causeway into two residential areas. Behind a gas station on the left a row of condos and apartments made a slow circle. To the right were houses; small but expensive. Nothing moved on either side. There were no lights showing, no sign of anything, neither traffic nor life.

Slowly I moved through the village. Empty. He was gone. On an island with only one

through street, he had lost me. But how?

I circled back, pulled off onto the shoulder of the road and closed my eyes. I don't know why; perhaps I hoped I might see something again. But I didn't. Just darkness, and little bright lights dancing on the inside of my eyelids. I was tired. I felt stupid. Yes, me; ditzy Kazunari, trying to be Boy Wonder, using my great psychic powers to track down the evil genius. Pursuing him in my supercharged crime-fighting vehicle. And in all likelihood he was simply a stoked-up delivery boy playing macho head games with the only other driver on the road that night. A Miami thing that happened every day to every driver in our fair city. Chase me, you can't catch me. Then the uplifted finger, the waved gun, ho-hum and back to work.

Just a refrigerated truck, nothing more, now speeding away across Miami Beach with the heavy metal station ripping from the radio speaker. And not my killer, not some mysterious bond pulling me out of bed and across the city in the dead of night. Because that was just too silly for words, and far too silly for level-headed empty-hearted Kazunari.

I let my head drop onto the steering wheel. How wonderful to have such an authentic human experience. Now I knew what it was like to feel like a total idiot. I could hear the bell on the drawbridge in the near distance, clanging its warning that the bridge was about to go up. Ding ding ding. The alarm bell on my expired intellect. I yawned. Time to go home, go back to bed.

Behind me an engine started. I glanced back.

From behind the gas station at the foot of the bridge he came out fast in a tight circle. He passed me fishtailing and still accelerating and through the blur of motion in the driver's window a shape spun at me, wild and hard. I ducked. Something thumped into the side of my car, leaving behind it the sound of an expensive dent. I waited for a moment, just to be safe. Then I raised my head and looked. The truck was speeding away, crashing the wooden barrier at the drawbridge and powering through, leaping across the bridge as it started to raise up, and making it easily to the other side as the bridge keeper leaned out and yelled. Then the truck was gone, down the far side of the bridge and back into Miami, far away on the other side of the widening gap as the bridge went up. Gone, hopelessly gone, gone as if he had never been. And I would never know if it had been my killer or just another normal Miami jerk.

I got out of my car to look at the dent. It was a big one. I looked around to see what he had thrown.

It had rolled ten or fifteen feet away and wobbled out into the middle of the street. Even from this distance there was no mistaking it, but just to make sure I was absolutely without any doubt, the headlights from an oncoming car lit it up. The car swerved and smashed into a hedge and over the sound of its now-constant horn I could hear the driver screaming. I walked over to the thing to be sure.

Yes indeed. That's what it was.

A woman's head.

I bent to look. It was a very clean cut, very nice work. There was almost no blood around the lip of the wound.

''Thank God'' I said, and I realized I was smiling—and why not?

Wasn't it nice? I wasn't crazy after all.

About an hour later the place was filled with cops. I was sitting on the trunk of my car my thoughts only on the killer, that is until I saw Taiga talking with sergeant Aomine, his eyes met mine and I sent him a thumbs up. He smiled and returned his eyes to Aomine's; Aomine was looking at Taiga with some respect now, after all my brother had told them about the ice truck.

Momoi walk over to me, she looks displeased, and of course she was; my brother had right. It must have hurt her pride oh so very much. ''Hanging in there?'' She asks. I only nod.

''Okay, let's go over this again. So out of all the ice trucks in Miami; quite a coincident don't you think?''

''Um yeah during business hours maybe, but at this time of the night a truck like that sticks out'' I answer.

''And you followed it?''

''That's right''

''And you never saw the driver?''

''No just highlights and a flying head'' I answer with a smile.

''So then he must have had the head with him in the front seat. Huh, that's weird'' She tells me and by the tone I could tell she was in deep thought. ''Why would he keep it there? It just seems odd…Your brother has an ice truck theory and then he comes here to back it up'' she says bitterly.

I smile at her ''He's good lieutenant, you should give him a chance.''

''You should call me Satsuki, and let me tell you who's good, you are.'' I give her a confused look, does she know? Lieutenant does have this talent of knowing certain things; oddly enough it's never about a case though.

''Aomine caught the killer of the cokehead murder. You were right. It was her ex-boyfriend''

Of course I was right; it was all in the evidence.

''But of course Daiki still hates you'' she tells me, I just laugh.

''Tell me Kazunari; how did you get so smart?''

''Lots of sleep'' I lie ''Is it okay if I fill out the report tomorrow?''

''Ah sure thing, you're tired.'' She smiles at me understandingly.

''Good night lieutenant''

Today was all in all, as said, a good day.

I knock on Shintarou's door, regret flows through my veins. I'm distressed, and it's bothering me. Shintarou opens the door; he looks at me for a long time.

''Kazunari it's been a long time'' He says, with his eyes staring longingly into mine.

''I'm sorry'' I tell him; I didn't want to lose him. Not now; not ever.

''I just didn't know what to do'' He continues, then takes a deep breath and looks at me.

''Are you okay?''

''Ah yes, I'm fine I was just – I'm sorry there was another um you know'' I draw a line over my neck with my finger; to suggest a murder.

''Oh…Well Maki is sleeping at a friend's house'' He looked to the side, blushing a little. Oh god was he? No he couldn't be.

''Okay'' I tell him; trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

''Would you like to come in?''

''Um yeah okay'' As I step inside; all I can hear is Hiroto's voice warning me, and my own panic. Our relationship was built on him not wanting sex, so it couldn't just happen. If we ever did it; he'd see me and I'd lose him, and I can't.

''I don't want to lose you, Kazunari.'' He takes a deep breath and I can hear the shakiness in it.

''Okay sure'' I tell him awkwardly. The genius Takao Kazunari can't even think at all right now.

''Well I – I want you…I mean'' he unbuttons the first two buttons on his shirt.

''Oh'' I say, oh god oh god. ''Okay'' He stares at me and I feel obligated to say something ''Thanks''

He looks at me confused ''You're welcome..?'' he says, and then he moves closer to me, so close that our chests are meeting. He moves his arms down around my waist and starts to kiss me. I was panicking inside; I awkwardly put my hands on his shoulders. Somehow his tongue got into the mix and he starts pressing me even closer to him. This was it; I was going to lose him. He's going to see what I really am – empty inside. He starts walking back, not letting go nor stop kissing me.

He pushes me down into the couch. The takes a moment to look at me; I smile awkwardly. ''Do you mind?'' he asks. I shake my head as a no. He puts on of his legs in-between mine and the other one on the side. He looks at me and his hands on my shoulder and slides them down to my chest, until he removes them both and starts unbuttoning his shirt again. And then –

The phone rings. This was my chance. ''Um you should take it, it could be Maki'' I tell him.

''You're right'' He says. He walks over to the phone and answers it. I let out a sigh of relief.

After a minute or so he comes back into the room. ''it's Maki; the other girl just threw up. I….I'm so sorry''

''Eh? Shin-chan it's nothing, go get her'' I give him a smile, He gives me a peck on the lips.

''Tell me we're okay, Kazu'' He asks with hope in his voice.

''Better than okay, now go and be a good brother''

'That was close'

As I walk into my apartment I get this feeling. I know that something was wrong. Someone had been in my apartment. The door was not broken, the windows were not jimmied, and I couldn't see any signs of vandalism, but I knew. Call it sixth sense or whatever you like. Someone had been here. Maybe I smelled pheromones the intruder had left in my air molecules.

Well it didn't really matter how I knew it. I knew I would find nothing missing.

And I was right. Nothing was missing.

But something had been added.

It took me a few minutes to find it. I suppose some work-induced reflex made me check the obvious things first. When an intruder has paid a visit, in the natural course of events your things are gone: toys, valuables, private relics, the last few chocolate chip cookies.

So I checked.

Everything was exactly as I had left it.

I checked the private areas next, just to be sure: bedroom, bathroom, medicine cabinet. There were all fine, too, all apparently undisturbed, and yet there was a feeling suspended in the air over every object that it had been examined, touched, and replaced—with such perfect care that even the dust motes were in their proper positions.

Nothing was really different, nothing changed or missing; nothing.

And why would anyone break into my apartment at all? There was nothing special about it—I'd made sure of that. It was part of building my Hiroto Profile. Blend in. Act normal, even boring. Don't do anything or own anything that might cause comment. So had I done. I had no real valuables other than a stereo and a computer. There were other, far more attractive targets in the immediate neighborhood.

And in any case, why would somebody break in and then take nothing, do nothing, leave no sign? I leaned back and closed my eyes; almost certainly I was imagining the whole thing. This was surely just jangled nerves. A symptom of sleep deprivation and worrying too much about Taiga's critically injured career. Just one more small sign that Poor Old Kazunari was making that last painless transition from sociopath to psychopath. It is not necessarily crazy in Miami to assume that you are surrounded by anonymous enemies—but to act like it is socially unacceptable. They would have to put me away at last.

And yet the feeling was so strong. I tried to shake it off: just a whim, a twitch of the nerves, a passing indigestion. I stood up, stretched, took a deep breath, and tried to think pretty thoughts. None came. I shook my head and went into the kitchen for a drink of water and there it was.

There it was.

I stood in front of the refrigerator and looked, I don't know how long, just staring stupidly.

Attached to the refrigerator, hair pinned to the door with one of my small tropical-fruit magnets, was a Barbie doll's head. I did not remember leaving it there. I did not remember ever owning one. It seemed like the kind of thing I would remember.

I reached to touch the little plastic head. It swung gently, thumping against the freezer door with a small thack sound. It turned in a tiny quarter circle until Barbie looked up at me with alert, Collie-dog interest. I looked back.

Without really knowing what I was doing or why, I opened the freezer door. Inside, lying carefully on top of the ice basket was Barbie's body. The legs and arms had been pulled off, and the body had been pulled apart at the waist. The pieces were stacked neatly, wrapped, and tied with a pink ribbon. And stuck into one tiny Barbie hand was a small accessory, a Barbie vanity mirror.

I left the doll where it was and went back to my chair, sinking deep into the cushions and closing my eyes. I knew I should be feeling upset, angry, afraid, violated, filled with paranoid hostility and righteous rage. I didn't. Instead I felt—what? More than a little light-headed. Anxious, perhaps—or was it exhilaration?

There was of course no possible doubt about who had been in my apartment. Unless I could swallow the idea that some stranger, for unknown reasons, had randomly chosen my apartment as the ideal spot to display his decapitated Barbie doll.

No. I had been visited by my favorite artist. How he had found me was not important. It would have been easy enough to jot down my license number on the causeway that night. He'd had plenty of time to watch me from his hiding place behind the filling station. And then anyone with computer literacy could find my address. And having found it, it would be easy enough to slip in, take a careful look around, and leave a message.

And here was the message: the head hung separately, the body parts stacked on my ice tray, and that damned mirror again. Combined with the total lack of interest in everything else in the apartment, it all added up to only one thing.

But what?

What was he saying?

He could have left anything or nothing—but why Barbie? Aside from the obvious fact that the doll reflected the body of his last kill, why tell me about it? And was this more sinister than some other, gooier message—or less? Was it, I'm watching and I'll get you?

Or was he saying, Hi! Wanna play?

And I did. Of course I did

.


End file.
